Coronavirus, the musical

The world is about to get a whole lot more musical, thanks to the only thing most people are talking about these days: the coronavirus.

In last week’s column, I wrote about an unfortunate bit of knowledge I possess: that singing the first verse of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” exactly corresponds to the 20 seconds it takes to wash your hands well enough to avoid contracting the disease du jour.

That’s a fact I’ve known for years, long before the latest outbreak sent the world’s population into a mad rush to acquire bulk packs of toilet paper. And as I mentioned last week, the song is contributing to my slow decline into madness. One can sing “Yankee Doodle Dandy” only so many times before one snaps one’s cap.

What with the current CDC advice that I wash my hands about a million times a day … well, let’s just say “Yankee Doodle Dandy” is wearing really thin.

Fortunately, Daily News readers came to my rescue big time! That column struck a chord with readers, many of whom have been having their own musical meltdowns over this recent hand-washing fanaticism.

Elaine P., for instance, has her own musical cross to bear, thanks to her grandchildren. They informed her that “Happy Birthday” (twice) also is the perfect hand-washing tune; just about 20 seconds if sung the way most people sing it at Chuck E. Cheese.

“I go crazy every time singing that tune,” Elaine wrote. Who can blame her? “Happy Birthday” is the only song in the world more annoying than “Yankee Doodle.”

Fellow Daily News columnist and researcher extraordinaire Sandy Main sent me a link to a list of 10 songs (or parts of them) that also work. The chorus to Prince’s “Raspberry Beret,” for instance: “She wore a raspberry beret / The kind you find in a secondhand store / Raspberry beret / And if it was warm she wouldn’t wear much more / Raspberry beret / I think I love her.”

I’m a Prince fan, but not where that song’s concerned. Just never liked it. So I won’t be picking that one; it would make me just as crazy as you-know-what-song is making me now.

Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” also fits. However, were I to get caught singing the chorus in some biker bar somewhere, the results might be worse than the virus: “Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene / I’m begging of you please don’t take my man / Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene / Please don’t take him just because you can.” Hard for a straight guy to feel manly when he’s begging someone not to take his man. Just sayin’.

Then there’s Stevie Nick’s “Landslide”: “Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’ / ‘Cause I’ve built my life around you / But time makes you bolder / Even children get older / And I’m gettin’ older too.”

The problem with that one is it reminds me I’m not only getting older, I have arrived at that particular station and am therefore more susceptible to the coronavirus’ more deleterious effects. Who needs to thump that point home? Not me.

One I really DO like is from Natasha Bedingfield, called “Unwritten.” It goes: “Feel the rain on your skin / No one else can feel it for you / Only you can let it in / No one else, no one else / Can speak the words on your lips / Drench yourself in words unspoken / Live your life with arms wide open / Today is where your book begins / The rest is still unwritten.”

I like that one for several reasons. It seems hopeful and implies I’m probably going to live through this virus thing. Also, it has the words “rain” and “drench” in it, which fits with the hand-washing theme.

Unfortunately, I have no idea who Natasha Bedingfield is or what the tune to her song might be. One of the curses of getting old is you no longer give a rat’s patootie about “current” music. (If Bedingfield isn’t considered current, please don’t tell me; it’ll only make me feel older still.)

Other readers sent in their own ideas: “Karma Chameleon” by Boy George (another one to avoid singing in biker bars, along with “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me.”) The chorus to “Old Time Rock & Roll” also works, but I’ve been playing that song for 40 years in my own bar band and would rather inhale the virus through a used plastic straw than sing that turkey for free.

At any rate, I’m thinking of combining all these great hand-washing tunes into a Broadway Musical. Look for the film version, “Keepin’ Kleen,” coming to a theater near you this October. Assuming civilization hasn’t crumbled by then.

Can coronavirus drive you mad?

This coronavirus thing is making me crazy.

In the 24/7 news cycle in which we now live, the coverage is abundant, but not always accurate. On one hand you’ve got fringe news outlets screaming about the end of the world; on the other end of the spectrum are politicians assuring us the whole thing might “miraculously go away” on its own just as soon as the tulips begin to bloom in April.

And of course, the first coronavirus victim hadn’t so much as sneezed before the conspiracy theorists trotted out their fractured fairy tales. Everything from secret government laboratories manufacturing germ warfare to politicians (again) using the crises for political gain, nothing is too crazy to believe, particularly for those willing – and in many cases anxious – to ignore anything remotely resembling a fact.

We have sooooo much information and so little truth.

I’ve been trying to get my news directly from the W.H.O. (World Health Organization) and the C.D.C. (Centers for Disease Control) whenever possible. My thinking is that neither of these organizations has a political ax to grind, at least not when it comes to something like the coronavirus. All they want to do is get the information out there and convince people to start washing their hands, already.

That’s the part that’s making me crazy. Not the terrible cable news coverage or the political twit-storm; the hand washing. That’s what’s bugging me most. The damn hand washing.

Look, I’m not a complete slob. I wash my hands a dozen times each day anyway. I’ve always been a bit germ-o-phobic. It’s one of the reasons I’m always nervous prior to a visit from my younger grandchildren, whom I think of as Pool of Contagion #1 and Pool of Contagion #2. Most kids that age are.

One of them always seems to have a cold, the sniffles, a mild fever, leprosy, or some other easily-transmitted disease. As soon as they arrive, they immediately begin doing things like licking the TV remote or sneezing into the potato salad when nobody’s looking.

They are cootie central.

But I digress. My point is, I wash my hands a lot already. Since the coronavirus hit the news, I’ve become borderline obsessive about it. I’ve even begun using those germ-killing wipes the grocery stores provide to disinfect your shopping cart. In the past, I always considered these silly and paranoid. Lately, not so much.

But I digress again. Hand washing; that’s what this column is about. Not politics, fringe media screamers or cootie-infested grandchildren. Hand washing.

Why should hand washing make me crazy? Because of a song written prior to the Revolutionary War. “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” You’ve probably heard of it.

It was originally sung by British military officers (thank you Wikipedia) who sang it to make fun of the rustic colonial “Yankees” who fought by their side in the French and Indian War. It wasn’t until five years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence that the song became one of natural pride.

Hang with me here; this will all come together soon. I promise.

The reason my hand washing habit is tied inexorably to a song older than our country may be traced to an article I read over 30 years ago, one probably published by the C.D.C. or W.H.O. That article suggested washing your hands for at least 20 seconds, the amount of time, as it turns out, required to sing the first verse of “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”

For reasons I will never understand, that tidbit of random information stuck with me.

So for the past 30 years, whenever I wash my hands I find myself humming that stupid song. Every. Single. Time. I’ve tried to stop, but can’t.

In the pre-coronavirus days, I only had to hear that tune rattling around my head a dozen or so times a day. Now? Forty, maybe 50 times. Every. Single. Day. So, yes, it’s slowly driving me nuts.

And now that that tidbit of random information is also in your head? What can I say; sorry, and welcome to the party.